


The Miserable

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Fluff, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, No Musicals Were Harmed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Greg tried to give Mycroft a good present. But maybe he shouldn’t have asked Sherlock.





	The Miserable

Mycroft looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie. He could have deduced where they were going, but was trying to preserve the surprise. After all, Greg seemed fairly excited about it. Greg stepped into bedroom. “You look fine, love,” he smiled, a bit nervous.

Turning towards him, Mycroft crossed the distance and kissed him. “I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll love it.” After all, it was their first Christmas together. Mycroft had purchased Greg’s present the month before and carefully hidden it, but Greg had planned this night out as his present to Mycroft.

Greg took his hand and smiled at him. “Hope so,” he said, tugging him towards the waiting car.

Mycroft settled next to Greg and resisted the urge to pull out his mobile and check on a few things. After all, this was about Greg and him and Christmas. Greg was fairly bouncing in his seat with nerves. “Breathe, Gregory,” he muttered.

Greg smiled at him. “You know I love you, yeah?”

“Quite so. And I you.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him again a moment before the car stopped. 

They got out and Mycroft found that they were in front of a theatre. Greg towed him towards the box office before he could get a good look at the marquee, quickly collecting the tickets and leading him inside.

He wasn’t quite fast enough at the usher and Mycroft took a program, glancing down at it. His heart sank. “Les Miserables?” He said, sounding a bit surprised, which was accurate.

“Yeah,” Greg was looking for their seats, not at Mycroft. “Sherlock told me how much you like it.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. Oh there would be payback for this..

“You alright?” Greg had turned towards him, frowning a bit at his expression.

“Oh yes, fine,” Mycroft quickly smiled at him. “Which seats are they?”

Greg showed him the tickets and Mycroft nodded. “Over here,” he said, leading the way. They were good seats, and he knew it must have cost Greg a pretty penny for them. Well, nothing for it but to pretend to enjoy it. He could murder Sherlock later.

He got settled and browsed the program. “You’ve seen it before?” Greg asked.

“Once,” he said, remembering being forced to escort their parents.

“Well, I know how shows are different every time. Hope it’s still good.”

“I’m sure,” said Mycroft neutrally, still looking at the program rather than at the one person who could read him better than even his own mother.

Greg opened his mouth, but the lights started to come down and Mycroft braced himself as the opening notes filled the theatre. Perhaps now would be a good time to try to practice those meditation techniques he’d been reading about. In the safety of the darkness Greg reached over and took Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft started to get a headache by halfway through the opening number. Greg was still holding his hand so he couldn’t even pretend to need to use the restroom, and besides it would be suspicious this early in the production.

He tried to occupy his mind with thinking of the best way to get back at Sherlock for this, but he really couldn’t think straight with the volume of the music, and besides, he was supposed to be enraptured and paying attention.

A quarter of the way through the first act, he finally couldn’t take it any more. There seemed to be a slight lull, so he leaned over to whisper to Greg that he needed to use the restroom, and got up to make his escape before Greg could argue. A bit rude to do so, but he was willing to do what it took to slip out of that theatre, even for a moment.

The restroom was mercifully empty and though he could still faintly hear the music it was at least much quieter. He sat down in a chair and rubbed his temples before glancing at his watch in hopes that more time had passed than could be reasonably expected.

No such luck. He sighed and tried to will himself to get up and go back. After all, Greg had planned this out and spent good money, the least he could do was go back and pretend to be enjoying himself. If he could fake interest in any number of foreign dignitaries then he could at least pretend to enjoy himself for a few hours to make his boyfriend happy.

Mycroft started to stand, then sat back down as the music rose to some crescendo. He examined the tile, reminding himself of how rude he was being. Why couldn’t it just stay as a long and rather interesting book? Who had the bright idea of adding musical numbers to a French revolution?

“Mycroft, did you fall in?” Greg’s voice startled him out of his reverie. He looked up and saw the look on Greg’s face.

“Erm, sorry, headache,” he said, at least half-honestly.

Greg cocked his head at him a moment. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Ah, well…” Mycroft stammered, for once searching for words.

“Oh, thank God,” said Greg with a laugh, sinking down to a seat next to him.

Mycroft stared at him. “What?”

“I can’t stand it either. I only got tickets ‘cause I thought you loved it.” Greg ran fingers through his hair. “What I get for asking Sherlock, I suppose, but I didn’t have any idea what you’d like.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Gregory, the mere fact that you would get tickets to something you dislike, because you think I’d enjoy it… thank you.”

Greg smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “Not quite _Gift of the Magi_ , at least.”

“Mm, no, I did not sell my pocket watch, nor did you… well you haven’t quite got that much hair anyway.”

“More than you,” said Greg, teasingly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, stood and offered Greg a hand up. “Much more pressing matters at hand.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” asked Greg, accepting his hand.

“How are we going to get Sherlock back for this?”

Greg grinned. “I think that calls a bottle of wine and an expensive dinner.”

“As do I.”

**

Sherlock was in the middle of a delicate experiment when his phone rang, he started to ignore it, but glanced to see who it was. Then he nearly dropped everything to answer. “Mummy, hello,” he said. He’d learned the hard way not to ignore her calls.

“Oh, Sherlock, thank you for the Christmas present!” Mummy was practically giddy. Mycroft usually got presents from the both of them, but he couldn’t recall Mummy actually calling to thank him like this.

“You’re welcome?” said Sherlock.

“I see the first show is Saturday. I suppose that’s why you gave it to me early. I’ll see you then!”

Sherlock started to object, but she’d already hung up. Sherlock stared at the phone, not even noticing as Mycroft let himself in.

“Yes, you’re going to go see Cats on Saturday. And a show every two weeks for the next three months. Mummy is delighted with her season tickets, you see, and your promise to escort her.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. “I won’t.”

“Oh you will.” Mycroft examined his umbrella. “Imagine what Mummy would do if she found out that you attempted to ruin Christmas between me and the only significant other I’ve ever brought home.”

Sherlock huffed. “It was one show, and he didn’t like it either and you both had a lovely dinner after and haven’t you put on another five pounds since you started dating Lestrade?”

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella and gave Sherlock a smile. “I’ll tell Mummy and I’ll tell John.”

“But that’s six shows,” said Sherlock.

“Yes.” Mycroft turned back for the door. “And do you really think Greg or anyone at Scotland Yard would give you a case as an excuse to get out of going? You really should think things through, Sherlock.”

“I wasn’t trying to ruin your Christmas,” Sherlock groused. “I knew you’d figure out neither of you liked it.”

“Yes, well, you really shouldn’t lie to Inspector Lestrade. This was his idea.” Mycroft turned as he reached the doorway. “And Sherlock?”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.” Mycroft headed down the stairs to where he knew Greg was waiting with his car. Yes, a good Christmas indeed.


End file.
